Berserker Rage
by courderouge2006
Summary: Right after Lana and Lex's marriage, Clark is filled with a lot of anger and rage. Who can help him out though? Only a true expert on the subject. Season six.


Here's something a little different. I don't own any of the Smallville characters or any other superheros. Enjoy.

--

Clark shoved the door of the dirty bar open, groaning as he heard it smack into the wall hard enough to crack wood. Shaking his head, he made a beeline for the bar before anyone could bring up his louder than normal entrance. Sitting down he nodded at the bartender.

The bartender walked over, sizing up his new patron. The "kid" looked like he might barely be around the legal drinking age, but he sure looked like he could hold a few in him. "What'll it be?"

Clark glanced down the bar at what the others had. "Uh… just gimme a Bud Light." He heard a scoff come up after making his choice. Looking back to his right, he set his jaw. "Something wrong with that, sir?"

The old man didn't even look up at him, he just kept staring at his empty shot glass. "That's a pussy beer." His voice grated out, worn down by too many years of tobacco and hard liquor burning his throat. He glared at the other drunks who protested his statement. He nodded to the bartender who put a shot glass in front of Clark. The old man didn't even look over as he poured a tall shot of the liquor from the plain bottle in front of him. "Try this, it'll put hair on your peaches there, farmer boy."

Clark sighed, knowing that alcohol wouldn't have any effect on him anyway. He smirked as he picked up the glass, knowing he'd get a kick out of the old man's reaction when this went down like water. Tossing it back, Clark started to smile when he suddenly coughed. He felt a burn down in his chest, but it wasn't a Kryptonite pain. No… this was just a strong liquor burn. "What the heck is this?" he asked staring at the glass.

The old man shook his head slowly. "Please… if you're gonna sit at my bar at least have the good graces to not use offensive language like that for fuck's sake!"

Clark looked up suddenly, caught off guard by the sudden profanity. "Wh-what do you mean by that?"

The old guy looked up at Clark finally, his grizzled face half hidden by a beat up hat. "A man insults your choice of beer, he's not a 'sir', he's a 'shit for brains son of a bitch who needs to mind his own business'! And 'heck' don't belong anywhere near what you just swallowed, this foul brew is straight out of the depths of hell itself and that son of a bitch Beelzebub stirred it with his pitchfork. So if you're in my bar, talk like it. I don't like the offensive language you were usin'."

Clark felt another burn run through his system… but it wasn't 200 proof this time. Everything that had been eating at him, tearing away at him from the inside was coming up at the same time, brought on by this old fart's little soliloquy. He'd been putting up with enough crap lately, he didn't need this guy pouring even more on. "Look… I just wanted to have a drink, not get a lesson on 'proper' bar etiquette. So get off my back."

The old guy took another shot, barely grunting. Then his lip twitched in what could barely be considered a smirk. "Say it again like you got a pair between your legs and I might apologize."

Clark felt his eyes burn just barely, but he kept the heat in check. "Get off my ass you sorry old fart or I'll show you I've already got plenty of hair on my 'peaches', got it?" he grunted out through gritted teeth.

The old man scoffed. "Not good enough kid."

Clark stood quickly, dwarfing the still seated man. "I'm not a kid!"

The old man put a finger in Clark's face suddenly, turning to look at him. "From where I sit ya are, and that's the only point that matters here. So sit your ass back down. Now I appreciate that you got a lotta rage boilin' in your gut, but I haven't earned any of it personally… yet. Keep it up and I'll take you to the woodshed like you're old man must not have done often enough."

Clark moved like a flash, grabbing the man by his collar and twisting him, slamming his back into the bar hard but not so hard as to hurt him…much. "Talking bad about my dad is the last thing you want to do right now. Say whatever the hell you want about me, my 'peaches' or what I drink, but you don't get to talk about him, got me you booze soaked son of a bitch?!?"

The old man glared back at Clark for a solid minute… then a small but genuine smile broke out across his face. "There ya go kid. Good job." He held his hand up in a conciliatory handshake. "Folks round here call me Logan."

Clark looked around the bar, realizing he had let his temper out of check suddenly. A quick scan showed he hadn't used any of his powers, and he released his grip on the old man's shirt. Glancing to his hand, then back up to the man, he let out the breath he'd been holding and shook it. "Clark."

Logan sat back down on his stool, pouring himself another shot. "Rudy, another glass for my friend Clark here." The bartender pulled another shot glass up from behind the bar and set it in front of Clark who had taken the stool next to Logan. He glanced at his old seat and noticed the crushed shot glass. Glancing at the barman, his voice took a softer edge. "I'm sorry about that. I'll pay for it."

"Hell you will. Rudy's fault for buyin' such cheap shit." Logan grunted, taking another swig of the foul liquor.

Clark stared at the small glass, studying the nearly clear brew. "What is this exactly?"

Logan shrugged. "No one really knows. Some old codger makes it up at his place up the mountain a ways. Someone says they started a tractor with it once though."

Clark threw the shot back, feeling it burn again. "I can see that happening," he groaned out, his face twisted slightly.

Logan pulled a cigar out of his jacket pocket, biting the end off. "You've managed to handle it better than most. Guess you're not a kid after all." Pulling a nicked up silver Zippo out of his pocket, Logan flicked it to life, ignoring the look he was getting from Rudy. Glancing back over to Clark, he could see the young man was already lost in thought. "So what's gotcher tighties in a twist?"

Shaking his head, Clark stared down at the scarred wood of the bar. "That's a long story."

Logan chuckled… at least Clark thought he did. "I ain't goin' nowhere 'cept maybe the floor if this shit catches up to me."

Clark couldn't help but laugh at that, holding up his shot glass to toast Logan.

Logan stepped away quickly. "Dammit kid, watch it! Don't get that shit too close to my cigar!"

--

Clark lined up his shot, knocking the 3 in the corner pocket easily. Moving around he worn table, he lined up his last shot. "8 Ball, corner pocket." Clark gave it a soft tap, he didn't want to scratch on the winning shot… and sighed as the ball stopped just short of the hole.

Logan laughed. "Well kid, looks like this one is in the…" He stopped chuckling, looking where the eight ball had just been. "What the…?" Walking over, he looked into the pocket, then plucked the 8 out of it. "_That's weird_," he thought to himself. "_Damn thing's ice cold_." Glancing up at Clark, he narrowed his eyes. "What'd you do?"

Clark just smiled, still in his shooting position. "Nothing. I haven't moved, you must have knocked the table." He stood up, hands on the cue as he grinned victoriously. "But that's ten bucks you owe me now."

Logan sighed and went around collecting the balls, setting them up again. "Yer cheatin' somehow just can't figure it out."

Clark stood back, letting him set the table up for another round. "So why are you here?"

"Isn't that obvious?" Logan asked, not even looking back. "It's a bar. You go to bars to get drunk."

Clark shook his head. "Yea, but if that's all you wanted you wouldn't have started messing with me. You'd have sat off in your own little dark corner and taken out a bottle of that diesel fuel alone."

"Look kid, if you wanna play Doc Phil, find a different head case. I prefer to drink my problems away." Lining up the break shot, Logan growled out "should look in the mirror probably."

"And what's that mean?" Clark asked through gritted teeth, standing up from his stool.

Logan shrugged, walking around to line up another shot. "You got some pent up issues apparently. Front of the line seems to be a serious anger management issue, 'specially when someone pushes the daddy button…" Just as he expected, Logan was suddenly shoved against the wall.

"What did I tell you about that?" Clark said, almost frothing at the mouth with suddenly released aggression.

Deciding it was time to help Clark with a lesson, Logan snapped a punch off into his face suddenly, and then yelped out in pain.

Clark dropped the smaller man, feeling his jaw twitch from the sudden shot. It hadn't hurt much, but he did feel it.

Logan held his right hand, muttering to the floor. "Think he bent my damn hand."

Clark rolled his eyes, realizing that Logan's hand was probably broken. He did a quick X-ray scan and noticed Logan's hand was… he squinted again, focusing his sight more. Something was covering Logan's bones, but what was…

"Got a problem kid?"

Clark shook his head but couldn't make himself say anything. Dropping the pool cue, he turned towards the door of the bar, leaving quickly.

He made it to the edge of the parking lot before he heard the gravelly voice again. "Ya can't keep running. Take it from an expert."

Clark sighed, not looking back. "If I face it… if I let it out, bad things will happen."

"Preachin' to the choir kid." Logan cracked his knuckles, looking around the parking lot. "But you gotta let it go or you're gonna go insane. Trust me."

Clark shook his head. "No. You don't get it…"

"You're not human, I get that much."

Clark's head shot up at those words, staring at the grizzled man. "What makes you say that?"

Logan shrugged. "Cause I ain't either. That punch I put on your chin shoulda knocked you on your ass."

Clark nodded slowly. "Yea… something looked off when I scanned your hand."

Logan arched a brow. "Scanned?"

Clark kicked himself for the slip. "I uh… I have really good vision."

Logan knew there was more to that, but he let it go. "Look kid, you gotta do something about the rage brewing. It'll eat at you until you can't even function anymore. You just become… an animal."

Clark sighed, pacing across the gravel lot. "It's not that simple…"

"Yea it is! Ya get rid of it, ya let it out, or it's gonna hurt ya. It'll eat away at your gut until everything tastes like ash, until the only thing you look forward to is the fight. So get your head outta your ass and deal with your damn problem!" Logan pushed his finger in Clark's face again.

Clark took a deep breath, trying to hold back his anger. "Get out of my face Logan."

Logan just stepped up in front of him. "Or what?" he asked, shoving Clark in the chest.

Surprised by the movement, Clark stumbled backwards. "What the…"

"Or what Farmer Brown?" Logan shoved him again. "Whatcha gonna do?"

Clark looked away, feeling his eyes burn with hatred. "Back off!"

Logan reached up, thumping Clark in the forehead. "Or what? You ain't gonna do crap. You're just a neutered pup, you don't have it in ya to do anything. Wonder what daddy would think if he was here to see this crock of…"

Logan didn't get to finish his insult… he was flying back through the air suddenly, disappearing out of the parking lot deep into the woods, feeling his back crack against a very large, very old tree eventually.

Clark stood in the lot, staring at where Logan had been. His arm was still extended in front of him where he slammed his fist into Logan's abdomen. "Oh god!" He took off as fast as he could, searching through he broken limbs to find the… man. "LOGAN?!"

He finally found him at the base of a tree. He could see the large crack moving up the trunk of the tree, and he grimaced when he realized how hard he must have hit it. "Oh man… Logan, are you ok?"

Logan stirred suddenly, jumping up and groaning. "Ohhh… fuck that hurt!" He was pacing in a circle, reaching behind his back… and then he yelled even louder. Clark grimaced to see the hunk of wood that had been stuck in his back. Logan turned away from the young man, pounding his fists into the tree as he felt all the pain hit his muscles at once. With a feral scream, he popped his claws, slashing at the base of the tree, splintering a large section of it and whittling away at 100 years of slow growth.

Clark could only stare wide eyed as he saw the claws pop out through Logan's skin. "What are…?" He scanned again, trying to see if they were part of him.

Logan held a hand up, the claws still coming out from between his fingers. "One sec…"

Clark stepped back a few steps. Logan stretched his arms and back and Clark could hear a grinding popping noise. A few moments later, he stepped up. "Are you alright?"

Logan sighed, nodding. "Yea. I'm good. Just had to work out a few kinks."

Clark moved up to him quickly. "I'm so sorry… I shouldn't have… I never should have hit you like that!"

Logan waved him off. "It's fine kid. I wanted you to."

Clark could only stare, confused. "What?"

Logan had to smirk a little. "You were at a dangerous place. You had to get it out, even a little. And I was the best man for the job. So to speak."

"But, you're hurt!"

Logan looked confused. He turned around, his back to Clark. "Where?"

"Right…" Clark looked at his back where the piece of wood had stabbed through, but he only saw unbroken skin. "How did you…?"

"One of my many surprises kid. I can take a beating and keep going. That's why I was the one for the job." Logan slid down to the ground, leaning against a fallen tree. "Damn, I could use a drink right now."

He heard a whoosh, and when he looked up to see what had happened, Clark was gone. "What the fu…" And just like that he was back, holding a bottle of the diesel fuel liquor. Logan stared up at him as he took the bottle from the young man. "You got more than one secret of your own don't ya?"

Clark just shrugged. "Don't we all?" He plopped down onto the ground next to Logan, looking up at the stars.

Logan took a swig of the brew before handing the bottle to Clark. "So… be honest. That helped didn't it?"

Clark grimaced after taking a swallow. "Yea. It did."

Logan chuckled. "You gotta be more careful kid. Don't let it get that high. What if I'd been just some random drunk asshole and you were in that bad a state?"

Clark couldn't help but admit he was right. "I know. You don't know how much that thought gnaws at me. What if I just lose it one day and I hurt someone? What if I'm not careful and I hurt someone… close?"

Logan's ears perked up at this. He tilted his head to look at Clark. "What do you mean by that?"

Clark reached a hand above him with one finger poked out. With a simple push, his entire finger was buried in the trunk of the tree with no effort at all. "What if I'm not paying attention and I shake a hand too hard? Or I squeeze a hug too tight? Or what if I was… uh… you know… with someone… and I lost control of my heat vision?"

"Heat vision?" Logan grumbled. "Not as bad as the other one at least."

"Other one?"

"Never mind," Logan said, brushing the topic away quickly. "But why would your bright eyes go off in the middle of sex? Get sparklies in your eyes when you reach full mast?" Logan asked, laughing to himself… until he noticed that Clark hadn't answered him. "Clark? That doesn't happen does it?" he asked, sitting up a little more and trying not to laugh in his face.

"Well… it… not as often as it used to, ok? I've got a handle on it… I mean… uh… dammit!" Clark muttered, his head hitting back against the tree.

Logan looked up warily as he heard it crack some more. Satisfied it wouldn't fall on him, he leaned back. "So… anyone in particular got your corneas scorchin'?"

Clark shook his head. "A long time ago yea… but she's married to someone else now."

"Was she your true love?"

Clark sighed again… then nodded slowly.

Logan scoffed. "That's horse shit!"

Cutting his eyes at him, Clark looked shocked. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"She's the love of your life… you're one and only… and ya just let her go get married to some other guy? That's… horse… shit." Logan poked Clark's chest to emphasize each word. "If she was your true one and only you'd have done anything it took to get her back. You'd walk through fire for her. You'd face raging waters, you'd stand off against giants, you'd face your demons for her… and if ya let this other girl go so easily, then she wasn't the one."

Clark muttered to himself. "Oh yea? Well then who in the…?" He was cut off by his cell phone ringing. Looking at the screen he grumbled again. "Oh god… not this right now."

"Someone you don't wanna talk to?"

Clark stared at the screen and sighed. He finally hit the answer button. "Hello?... Hey Lois… No, I'm not… I'm not around the house… Well go ahead and go to the house, mom will be glad to see you… No, I'm not gonna be there anytime soon I don't think… Yes I know it's the usual movie night… No I'm not just trying to get out of watching Orlando Bloom… Well fine, pick a Hugh Jackman film!... He's a cool guy, I like his movies!... What? No… No!... Lois!... Not Swordfish, I can't take watching that again!... Hello? Lois?... Ah damn!" Clark shut the phone, wincing when he heard the extra little pop in the plastic. "I swear she's gonna drive me insane."

Logan didn't say a word for a few moments. Then finally… "Hugh Jackman, huh? Guess he's not that bad. No real epic movies though, nothin' to be really remembered for." Pulling a slightly bent cigar out of his jacket pocket, he searched his pockets for his Zippo… then jumped when the tip of it suddenly burst into an orange glow. "What the fu…?" He heard Clark chuckle. "Dammit kid, don't do that kinda stuff. I've had enough surprises tonight."

Clark just laughed again, staring at his closed phone.

Taking a drag of his cigar, Logan looked back at the farmer. "So who's this Lois girl?"

Clark scoffed. "She's an annoying, bed stealing, food eating, knows everything, pushy, stuck up pain in the butt!"

Logan rubbed his chin. "So… she gets your blood boilin' huh?"

"Oh yea, all the time!"

He nodded. "And you just can't get her outta yer head, huh?"

Clark shook his head.

"And I bet she's always getting' herself into trouble, and you have to save her butt all the time?"

Clark nodded. "All the time. The first few months alone I had to pull her out of a flooding storm drain system, stop a metal morpher from skewering her, her sister showed up and fleeced someone for a ton of fake ransom, she hit a dog that we ended up keeping. She's always there! She keeps hanging around and I can't get rid of her!"

Logan had to keep from laughing out loud.

"And then, last year she got herself wrapped up in this scandal at a strip club, and I ended up having to sit there while she… uh… well… you know." Clark tried to motion with his hands, not noticing Logan physically shaking from trying to hold the laughter in. "And this year, I've had to kiss her not once, but twice!"

"Whoa whoa… 'Had' to kiss her? You sure you like the ladies there friend? 'Cause I don't remember ever looking down on a kiss from a pretty lady." He tapped the ash off his cigar. "Did you not like the kisses?"

"Well…" Clark was stumped for what to say. Looking back on it, he realized he never just thought about it when it happened. And when he thought about it, he realized that Lois was a very capable kisser. "She uhhh…"

Logan chuckled. "That's what I thought." He took a swig of the harsh liquor. "So, we have a girl, capable of getting herself into some real trouble 'cause she's pretty headstrong, capable of getting herself out of some of it too, she's always on your mind, and she sets your blood on fire? Am I right so far?"

Clark held a hand up to him. "Wait now, it isn't like that!"

"Lemme finish here kid." Logan had all five fingers on his hand stretched out. "So on top of all that, she apparently knows how to play you like an old guitar from what I heard on that phone, which means you've let her in pretty deep if she knows you that well." One claw extended to emphasize his newest point.

Clark stared at the long sinister looking claw, but eventually gave in, nodding.

"And she's laid not one…" another claw extended, "but two knee knockin' kisses on ya," the last claw extended. "Kid, if I even have to start usin' the other hand to list more stuff, I'm gonna have to hit you again."

Clark sighed. "It's not as simple as all that though!"

"It's never simple Clark." Logan retracted all but one claw, lazily scratching at the bark of the tree with it. "It's never gonna be in a nutshell that is easy to break down and figure out. If it makes sense to you and you can envision that little house with the white picket fence and the perfect family of 2.7 kids or whatever the hell the statistics say now, then it most likely isn't real. But if you can see yourself tryin' to grab a moment with her between working, friends, diapers and Barney reruns, then you're bein' realistic at least. That means you see a real possibility there. And don't run from that."

Clark heard something twitch in the low growling voice of his new… friend? That seemed like a weird way to describe someone you just drank formaldehyde with and punched through a forest. "You had that? And you don't anymore, do you?" But Clark knew it wasn't a question even as he asked.

Logan nodded, barely perceptible to the naked eye. "If I come back into this area in five years and find out that you're still sittin' on some bar stool drinkin' this shit and didn't take the chance, jaw of steel or not I'm gonna mess ya up good, got me?"

Clark laughed. It wasn't a big laugh, but it felt good. "I got you." He slowly lifted himself off the ground, reaching out to help Logan up.

He brushed Clark's hand away. "Please, like I need a lil punk like you to help me…" Clark grabbed him as he started to list to the side when he stood. "Ok… maybe I drank more of that stuff than I thought." He took a moment, righted himself, and smirked. "I'm good."

Clark smiled. "Thanks a lot Logan. I needed this."

Logan patted the much taller man on the shoulder. "Not a problem pal. Just remember what I said." He leaned down to grab the almost empty bottle. "Now get yer ass in gear, you got a movie to get to," he said, holding the bottle up in a mock toast. "To Lois… and Clark. I can see good things comin' out of that."

Clark rolled his eyes. "I think you're crazy. But who knows." Clark turned to walk down the path back to the bar, and the road. "Will I ever run into you out here again sometime?"

Logan shrugged. "I'm a drifter kid, who knows. I might find myself in Kansas again someday. Now get yer ass in gear! GO! Or do I have to go whoo this Lois chick myself?"

Logan would always remember the soft growl he heard from Clark… but he knew the kid would deny it vehemently. Clark just turned and ran off at superspeed. Making his way back to the bar slowly, Logan pushed through the doors with the empty bottle, sitting back at the bar. "This place got cable Rudy? Some place has to be showin' that Swordfish movie, got a sudden hankerin' to see it."

--

Clark walked out of the Daily Planet, his cell phone perched on his shoulder once again. "Yes Lois, I'm on my way… No, I didn't get to the pharmacy yet for Lanie's cough medicine… Yes, I know you're going crazy with her whooping cough and Jerry's croup... Yes, I will get the groceries… I'll be home in a few minutes… You know darn well I can make it all around and home in a few minutes, so don't threaten me with that… No I do not think that would be a fitting punishment, it would drive you just as crazy as it would me…" He glanced around just to make sure no one was close enough to hear him. "Because you'd be crawling the walls long before I would… remember our first night at my parents' house after the wedding?... That's right, you were the one going back on your own 'no nooky at the in-laws' rule within hours…" He laughed. "Ok sweety, I'll see you in a few minutes… I love you too Lois… Don't call me 'Smallville' where the kids can hear, bye."

Clark had just hung up when he bumped shoulders with someone. He glanced up to see a guy in a beat up leather coat and jeans with an old cowboy hat pulled over his face. "Oh, sorry sir." He kept walking down the sidewalk, but his ears picked up a barely audible grumble.

"Not bad, kid."

Clark stopped, his eyes wide behind his glasses. "Logan?" He turned quickly, looking around the sidewalk for the man he hadn't seen in years. "Logan?!" But he couldn't see him, or pick up any other sounds from him. He did pick up on a woman begging for mercy from a mugger. Ducking towards an alley, he quickly started to change into his other "work suit" before dashing off to help her.

He didn't see the figure crouched on the fire escape overhead, grinning as he lit a cigar. The small orange flame lit up a tired looking face, worn from years of battle, alcohol and cheap tobacco. But today, it bore a smile. "Not bad at all."


End file.
